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by Higgles123
Summary: One shot of the time Alfie Solomons met the long lost sister he didn't even know existed


Alfie rubbed his eyes wearily, dropping his half-moon spectacles on the table in frustration. He had the headache from fucking hell and a mountain of tedious paperwork before him that seemed to be growing by the hour. His meeting with Thomas Shelby only an hour before had done little to sweeten his sour mood either. That fucking arrogant pikey had a way of getting right under Alfie's skin like a bad itch.

When there was a tentative knock at the door, Alfie growled. He could tell it was Ollie by the cautious way in which he knocked. Or rather by the way he only plucked up the courage to knock after his footsteps had already paused outside the door a full thirty seconds before.

"Didn't I say I don't wanna be disturbed?" Alfie scowled.

"Yeah, I know," Ollie grimaced, scratching his head. "I wouldn't have bothered you unless I thought it was important, Alfie."

Alfie tittered at that statement. To Ollie, important was one of the lads on the bakery floor starting a fight with another over something ridiculous like who could down more pints in one go. To Alfie, important was the bakery about to burn down around him; and even then he was only concerned once the flames reached his office and the never ending paperwork.

"Well go on then, what is it?"

"There's a girl outside," Ollie began, shifting on his feet awkwardly.

"A girl?" Alfie slammed his hands down angrily. "A fuckin' girl? What you tellin' me for? Tell her to fuck off. Christ Ollie, I'm surprised you aint stuck to your mum's tit still sometimes cos you can't hardly do anythin' for your fuckin' self."

"I…well… she says…I don't know how to-"

"-Oh for fucks sakes, Ollie, spit it out will ya?"

"She says she's your sister."

The silence was deafening. Alfie squinted at the preposterous claim before chuckling darkly.

"Listen, tell the girl, whoever she fuckin' is that if she aint gone in five minutes, we're gonna have a problem, right?"

"But Alfie, she said to give you this."

With the filthiest look, Alfie snatched the sepia photo from Ollie's outstretched hand and his heart lurched. It was a man and woman, holding a small, smiling baby in between them. But there was only one person in that image who Alfie couldn't tear his eyes from.

Alfie remembered the last time he had seen his father. It had been his ninth birthday, and like all young children he had hurried down the stairs excitedly. But there were no presents and no smiles; only his mother sitting at the kitchen table and crying into a cup of tea while his father buttoned up his coat. Before he left, Alfred Solomons Sr had taken his black, wide-rimmed hat and plonked it on top of his son's head in a strangely empty gesture before walking out of his life, never to be seen or heard from again.

"She gave you this?" Alfie clarified.

"Yeah," Ollie nodded hesitantly, trying to determine Alfie's mood.

"Bring her here," Alfie decided.

"You're not going to hurt her, are you?" Ollie spoke before thinking.

"Just bring her in, Ollie, yeah?"

….

Alfie leaned back in his chair as she stepped inside. She was a slight thing with long blonde hair and bluey green eyes, and she didn't look much older than about sixteen.

"Shut the door behind you, Ollie," Alfie murmured, his eyes never leaving the girl who stood nervously before him.

Ollie hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering between the two. Eventually he did as he was asked, not wishing to be rebuked later for refusing. In his four year working for Alfie, Ollie had never seen him so much as lay a finger on a woman in anger, but his angry shouts had been the cause of many tears. This girl looked as though she would burst into tears at the slightest harsh word out of Alfie's mouth, and for some reason Ollie found himself pitying her.

Alfie said nothing for a full two minutes once the door closed, and the girl eyed him warily, as though she could sense the fierce temper that lay beneath his calm and collected exterior. Usually Alfie used this silent tactic as a way to frighten those he wished to assert his power over. But this time, his silence was for an entirely different reason. Looking at the girl's face was like seeing a ghost of a person he hadn't seen for almost three decades. There was no denying she was his father's daughter; the resemblance was eerily uncanny. She bore his father's same handsome looks, only they were softened and feminine; and while his father's eyes had been round in shape, hers were more cat like. But there was a sad look behind those eyes that spoke to Alfie. It was a look he recognised in himself.

"What's your name then?" Alfie asked her eventually, his voice gruff. He looked at her

"Rhiannon," she spoke softly. "Rhiannon Solomons."

"Hmm. And what exactly are you doin' here, Rhiannon _Solomons_?" he spat their shared surname distastefully at her.

"My mum died a few weeks ago," she swallowed, shifting uncomfortably on boots that had probably seen better days. She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and Alfie noticed her hand tremble slightly. "And my dad- your dad too- I haven't seen him in years. I don't even recall the day he left. One day he was there and then he was gone. Before my mum died, she told me about you. I didn't even know you existed. Dad never told me about you. I mean, perhaps he did but I was so little when he left that I don't remember much. But then perhaps he didn't because, well, he didn't care enough about us to come back, not even when I told him that Mum was dying, so I would wager that he felt the same about you."

"Sorry, am I meant to be saddened by your little story?" Alfie said in a bored tone. "Want me to get one of the lads to come in with a fuckin' violin while you maybe turn on the waterworks or summit, too?"

"I…" Rhiannon shook her head.

"Just tell me what the fuck you want, eh?" Alfie interrupted her. "Cos I'm a very busy man and I aint got fuckin' time for this."

"She told me to come to you; my Mum that is. When she was dying and it was clear that Dad wasn't going to come back, she told me that you were my brother and that I should come to you. She said… she said you might be able to help me now."

"Help you?" Alfie frowned. "With what?"

"Well I'm not exactly sure," she admitted, looking down at the floor and chewing on her lip. "We didn't have very much, my Mum and me, and now that she's gone, I've got even less. I-"

"-I get it," Alfie scoffed. "So you thought you'd come here and see what you could squeeze out of me?"

"No," she shook her head. "It's not like that at all. I just didn't know where else to go. Mum and Dad only ever had me. My mum was an only child so I don't have any aunts or uncles, and I don't even know whether Dad had any other family. Well, apart from you. My grandparents died before I was even born. So now that Mum's gone, there's only me. And she didn't want that for me. That's why she told me to come here. That's why she gave me the photograph. I didn't even know she had it. She said that after Dad left, she took it down because I used to ask about him and it made her sad. But she said that if I was to show you that photo then you would know I was telling the truth, and you would help me."

"No offense right, love, I don't know you or your mum from fuckin' Adam, do I? You waltz in here claiming to be my fuckin' sister sprung from the filthy loins of a bloke I aint never seen in years and I'm supposed to start dishin' out money like I'm a fuckin' charity? Listen to me, right," Alfie leaned forward and pointed at her. "That man what you call Dad is the biggest waste of space to ever walk on this earth, and there's hundreds of you fuckin' bastards wanderin' around the country like fuckin' vermin; because that's all you are. You're a fuckin' bastard whose Mum got taken in by fancy words and false promises."

Rhiannon blanched and he saw her bottom lip began to tremble. Alfie knew he was being a right bastard, but he couldn't stop himself. Looking at that carbon copy of his father was like seeing all of the shit in his life replaying in his mind like a movie reel; his mum struggling to make ends meet, crying as she worked her fingers to the bone, waiting pitifully for her husband to return and live as one happy family again, Alfie wishing for his Dad to come back and show him how much he loved him, his Mum dying from tuberculosis; coughing and spluttering blood while in her fevered state she wept and begged for the man who had broken her heart all those years ago.

It wasn't the girl's fault that she had the poor fortune to be born from the man he hadn't considered his father in years. But neither was it Alfie's fault that his heart was cold and hard against those who sought to cause him pain whether it be intentional or not.

"I have nowhere else to go," she whispered quietly.

"Aint my fuckin' problem, is it?" Alfie muttered. "Ollie!" he bellowed. Ollie opened the door ajar and peeked his head around it. "Ollie, this girl's leavin'. See her out, mate, yeah?"

"Of course, Alfie," Ollie nodded, opening the door wider and smiling politely to the girl who claimed to be his boss' sister. Ollie could see the resemblance if he was being honest. Not that he would be telling Alfie that any time soon.

"It was nice meeting you," Rhiannon said meekly as she left with Ollie. "Thank you for your time, Mr Solomons."

And as Alfie sat trying to manoeuvre his way through the paperwork he had been distracted from, those parting words played over and over in his head. The grief in those eyes that were the same colour as his own was tangible, yet once he had mercilessly sent her packing, she had set that aside and retained an air of dignity and civility.

Flinging his pen down on the table, Alfie didn't care when the ink splodged everywhere. He didn't care about much right now. But that was a fucking down right lie, wasn't it?

….

Rhiannon sat on the pavement and pulled her threadbare coat tighter around herself as she rifled through the meagre coins in her pocket. It was already dark and there was a biting chill to the wind that bit through her clothing.

She had just enough coins to get back to Nottingham but the next bus wasn't until morning. There would perhaps be a train, but that would cost more than her bus fare, which ruled it out immediately. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since that morning, even though it felt like it had been days instead of hours. However, she couldn't afford to buy anything otherwise she would leave herself short, and despite having nothing and no one back home in Nottingham, at least it was familiar and safe.

There was nothing for it but to just sit and wait until morning, and pray that the weather would be kind overnight. She tried to keep herself distracted by making up stories in her head or imagining what she would do when she got back home. But Camden at night was a rather scary place for the girl who had lived her entire life in a rather small town just outside of Nottingham. It was dark and every person that passed her either acted as though she wasn't there or looked at her a little too closely for comfort.

A maroon car drove past late in the evening, but she didn't pay it much mind until it suddenly reversed, coming to a stop in front of her. She clutched her bag and glanced around, trying to find an easy escape route if needed.

"What the fuck are you doin'?" a voice asked as the back window wound down.

Rhiannon looked up into the same bitter face of the man who had sent her away only hours before. The man who she had believed would welcome her with open arms.

"I'm waitin'," he muttered impatiently.

"Um… the bus back to Nottingham isn't due until the morning," she explained.

"Right. So you just plannin' on fuckin' sittin' there all night, then?"

"Well yeah."

Alfie nodded, pulling at his beard as he narrowed his eyes. Rhiannon wanted to shrink under his shrewd gaze, but there was nowhere to hide. Eventually, Alfie let out a sigh and opened the car door from the inside.

"Well come on then," Alfie tutted impatiently. "I aint got all fuckin' night."

"I don't understand," she murmured, eyeing him with confusion.

"Fucks sakes, I aint about to eat you," Alfie scowled. "It's freezin' out here and I aint gonna let you sit out in the cold all night. There's nothin' of you; you'd be half dead by mornin'."

Smiling gratefully, Rhiannon climbed in beside Alfie. As the car began to drive, she looked at him, unsure of what to say but completely unable to keep the joy off of her face.

"Don't look at me like that," Alfie's face was impassive and his tone clipped as he glanced at her from out of the corner of his eye. "This don't mean nothin', you understand that? It's just one night."

….

Alfie's modest four bedroomed town house was nestled in the heart of a street lined with acorn trees, and Rhiannon's mouth had dropped when they pulled up outside. Alfie's house by no means the grandest on the street, but in comparison to the dingy flat Rhiannon lived in, it was a palace.

Pushing open the front door, Alfie touched his fingers to the _mezuzah_ that hung on the right of the doorway and Rhiannon found herself warmed by his gesture. Before they had even gotten into the hallway, a huge beige beast of a bulldog came bounding towards them. The dog jumped up excitedly at his master, his tail wagging excitedly.

"Don't mind him," Alfie patted Cyril's head before hanging up his coat and reaching for Rhiannon's. "He might be big but he's soft as a teddy bear."

Smiling, Rhiannon handed her coat to Alfie and then crouched down to make a fuss of the dog. Cyril took to her with great interest, sniffing at her before licking her face all while trying to clamber on top of her to get even closer.

Alfie always paid close attention to the way Cyril reacted to people. Dogs, especially this one, always had a sixth sense for people. Alfie didn't know why it pleased him that Cyril had taken to her, but he quickly pushed that thought away. She wasn't anything to him and he was only letting her stay the night so he didn't have her freezing to death on his conscience. Well, that and the fact that he wasn't a complete and utter monster. He would do it for any young girl out in the cold. Honestly.

"You hungry?" Alfie asked gruffly.

"A little," Rhiannon nodded, standing up and brushing the dog's fur from her skirt. Her stomach gurgled loudly and even Alfie couldn't contain a smirk at the sound.

"Just a little?" he raised an eyebrow. "Come on then, I've saved you from freezin' to death, I don't want you to fuckin' starve now, do I?"

Rhiannon followed Alfie into the kitchen that was almost as big as the entire flat she lived in at home, and she couldn't contain her awe as she ran a hand along the fine mahogany worktops. Alfie motioned for her to sit down at the table while he peered inside the oven.

"My house keeper always makes summit and leaves it for me before she goes," he explained, pulling a dish out of the oven and serving the contents up on two plates.

"Thank you," Rhiannon smiled as he placed pie and potatoes down in front of her. "Mm, smells lovely."

Alfie said nothing and just blew on his piping hot dinner. Rhiannon followed suit and the pair ate in an awkward silence. Every so often, she thought about trying to instigate some sort of conversation but Alfie had made sure that his body language conveyed just how uncomfortable he was, so she decided against it.

"Right, well I'll show you to the spare room, shall I?" Alfie cleared his throat once he had cleared the dishes from the table.

"Oh, uh, yes, thank you," Rhiannon nodded. She took a deep breath and steeled herself to ask him something. She had nothing to lose. "Although perhaps if you have time, we could maybe talk a little? I would like to ask a few questions and maybe you have some for me?"

"I don't think so," Alfie scowled, although with a little less venom than usual. "I already thought I made myself pretty clear earlier, but just in case I didn't, I'll say it again. I have no interest in havin' any sort of relationship with you. You're my _half_-sister and even then only from the half of me that I aint worried myself with for years. As far as I'm concerned, my old man died the day he walked out on me and my mum. Therefore, everythin' what's to do with him may as well be dead, too."

Rhiannon recoiled as though he had hit her and realised she had been stupid to think that this offer of hospitality had meant that Alfie might actually want something to do with her. It was clear she meant nothing to him and never would. Perhaps she had been naïve to think that she could just turn up and expect him to welcome her with open arms. But in her grief, she hadn't wanted to believe that she was now alone in this cruel, cold world.

She followed Alfie up the stairs and into a bedroom that was like something from one of the stories she'd read growing up. The bed took up most of the room and it was littered with plush cushions in all shapes and sizes. If she hadn't have felt so dejected, Rhiannon would have thrown herself upon the bed with a childlike giddiness, but instead, once Alfie closed the door behind him, she burst into silent tears and sunk to the floor wishing that she could close her eyes and never wake up. At least then, she would never have to feel loneliness such as this ever again.

….

Alfie couldn't sleep. For once it had nothing to do with his sciatica or Cyril's arse. He kept tossing and turning, trying to block out the sounds of Rhiannon's cries when he'd left her in the bedroom. He'd done a right many horrible things in his miserable life, yet none had ever made him feel as bad as this. She was just a fucking girl for crying out loud. A girl without a mother and without a father. He knew how it felt to be parentless and alone, dealing not only with grief but also the big, wide world.

He lay there all night thinking about her. He had called her a bastard because that's what she was. But he wondered how many other people had used that slur during her young life time? At least Alfie had the one thing that his father's other spawn didn't; legitimacy and the respect that came with it. Alfie didn't know why, but that made him feel better. And in the same breath made him feel worse. She hadn't asked for this life; she hadn't been the reason his father had walked out on his wife and son all those years ago. But like him, she had suffered through not only losing a pathetic excuse of a father, but she had watched her mother die too. Had she nursed the woman as Alfie had his own mother? Had her mother cried and begged for the man who broken her heart too? In that moment, Alfie wondered just how many children and women cried over Alfred Solomons Sr? Probably far too many to count. And definitely far too many than he deserved.

Morning rolled around too quickly, and when the bright autumn sunshine rose, it taunted Alfie with its happiness. As he made his way downstairs, his bones creaking as much as the thickly carpeted stairs, he couldn't shake the feeling of dread that settled on his chest like a leaden weight.

When he stepped into the living room, Rhiannon was already there. She was fixated on the humbly framed photographs on the mantelpiece. Out of all the trinkets and ornaments possessed, these were his prized possessions.

"Is this your mother?" Rhiannon asked as she felt him come to a stop behind her.

"Yeah," he muttered.

"She's beautiful," Rhiannon ran a finger across the photograph of the woman with dark hair and eyes that she held in her hands.

"She was," Alfie spoke quietly.

Rhiannon turned, affording Alfie with the opportunity to see that her eyes were red rimmed and puffy.

"Was?" she frowned.

"She's dead," Alfie said simply, his voice thick with emotion. "Died when I was nineteen."

"Oh. That's only three years older than me. Although, I should imagine it doesn't matter how old we are; it still hurts the same?" Rhiannon looked at him with sympathy. "I'm sorry for you though."

"Aint your fault is it?" Alfie shrugged. Sixteen years old. She was still not much more than a child.

"How did she… do you mind if I ask how she passed?"

"TB," Alfie sighed. "Took her months to go."

Rhiannon nodded and turned to observe the photographs once again, swallowing the lump in her throat as she thought of her own mother.

"Mum died of cancer," she said suddenly. "Doctor reckoned she had only a few weeks to live but she held on for almost four months. Sometimes I wish she hadn't, you know. I wish she hadn't have suffered for so long, but at the same time I didn't ever want to let her go. Selfish of me really."

Alfie understood that feeling all too well. The bittersweet emotion that came with the eventual passing; the relief that they were no longer suffering but the despair that they had left.

"She was beautiful too. Your mum, I mean," he clarified. "From that picture I saw, she was beautiful too."

Rhiannon gave a weak smile, not knowing what else to say. The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed to the stroke of eight and Rhiannon sighed.

"I suppose I'd better get going if I want to make the bus."

"Yeah," Alfie muttered, following her into the hallway. "I'll walk you. Cyril aint had his mornin' walk yet so I may as well kill two birds with one stone, eh? Besides, you've survived the night, it'd be a shame for summit to happen now."

The sudden elation in Rhiannon's chest rapidly fizzled away at his words. He wasn't walking with her because he cared. He just wanted to make sure she was gone. His rejection stung more than she ever thought it would.

….

The walk to the bus station was strained to say the least. Alfie tried to make gruff small talk about her trip. How long would it take? How many bus changes?

"So what you gonna do when you get back to Nottingham?

That question threw her. It wasn't empty like the others.

"I don't know," she shrugged. "Find a job, I suppose."

Alfie merely nodded and ground his teeth to distract himself from the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Well, this is it then," he cleared his throat once they had reached their destination.

"Thank you," Rhiannon murmured. "For letting me stay."

"No bother," Alfie tipped his hat towards her. "Safe travels, yeah?"

And with his cane clanking on the pavement as he walked, he left her there to continue with his day. And his life. He didn't even glance back. Cyril whined but obediently followed his master who walked leisurely further and further away, as though he was out for a lovely morning stroll and not ridding himself of the sister he had only just discovered.

Alfie found each step he took more difficult than the last. It was as though he was walking through thick sludge and it took a great deal of effort to keep moving forward. Cyril eyed him with disappointment in his eyes. At least that's what Alfie's mind told him anyway, when in reality he was the one disappointed in himself.

He halted as a white feather, as pure as freshly fallen snow, landed at his feet. Once upon a time he would have scoffed at the notion of signs from the other side, but that had changed when he lost his mother. You see, he recalled quite clearly a day in late spring when he was fighting during the war. It had been eerily silent; the Germans hadn't fired at them for hours or even tried to coax them out of their foxholes. It didn't sit right with any of them, but the exhausted men had no energy to care.

Alfie was on look out, but his heavy eyelids kept drooping and before he knew it he had fallen asleep. He had been awoken only minutes later by something tickling his nose, opening his eyes to see a small feather much like the one on his shoes now, and he had smelled that same lavender perfume his mum had worn; right there amongst the overwhelming stench of piss and blood. When the feather blew away quite suddenly, he had turned his head to watch it go and that was when he saw him. The German soldier sneaking up behind him with his bayonet poised for attack. Alfie had known without any doubt in his mind that his mother had sent him that sign to save him. And since that day, she had sent him these signs through some of the hardest things he'd faced.

Which was why now, he found himself unable to ignore her message. He knew why she had stopped him in his tracks. Even from heaven or wherever she was now, his mother had a way of making him try to be a better person.

"Alright, you win," he grumbled picking up the feather and putting it in his pocket.

Turning around, his heart thumping wildly in his chest, he headed back in the direction he had come from. She was still there. Her head was bent as she studied the dirty pavement she stood upon. She didn't even glance up as he approached.

"Rhiannon," he spoke hesitantly, steeling himself as she looked up in surprise. "I can't believe I'm about to fuckin' say this, but I don't think you should go."

"What?" she frowned, her eyes wide with surprise.

"Don't go," he repeated, scratching the bag of his neck awkwardly. "Look I aint sayin' that we're gonna play happy families or nowt like that, but we can try and work summit out."

"We can?" she whispered, terrified that this was all some sort of cruel joke.

"Yeah," Alfie nodded. "I, uh… well it aint your fault that our old man's a right fuckin' twat, is it? And well, when I lost my mum I reckon it might have felt a whole lot easier to deal with if I hadn't had been all on my jack jones. So, I guess what I'm sayin' is that this whole siblin' business is all fuckin' new to me but I'm willin' to give it a try."

Rhiannon burst into tears and through her arms around Alfie's neck, almost sending them both flying to the floor.

"Thank you," she sobbed, her tears dripping onto his coat, soaking through the material.

"Right, well first things first," Alfie tried to scowl, gently untangling her arms. "I've got a reputation to uphold around here, yeah? So I can't be doin' none of this in the middle of the fuckin' street, do you understand?"

"Yes, sorry," Rhiannon nodded contritely, wiping her face, unable to hold back her delight. It was plastered all over her face in the form of a radiant smile.

"It's alright," Alfie replied firmly. "And there's gonna have to be some rules cos I'm used to my own space and doin' my own thing, right? But we can discuss all that when we get home."

"Home," Rhiannon shook her head in disbelief.

"Yeah," Alfie smiled finally, holding out his arm. "Home."


End file.
